Wonderful Christmas Time
by bolly69
Summary: A little festive fun for my favourite detectives. Enjoy! Merry Christmas! Bolly xx


**TITLE: Wonderful Christmas Time**

 **AUTHOR: bolly69**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or concept; they belong to the BBC/Ashley/Matthew, etc.**

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 **Just another seasonal one shot I had to get out of my system! This was meant to be posted Christmas Eve, but I real life took me away.**

 **For all the Alex and Gene fans out there who still believe in the magic.**

 **This is an** **M** **rating, please do not read on if you're easily offended by sex and/or strong language.**

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Friday 24th December 1982, Christmas Eve

Alex woke with the familiar feeling of dread in her stomach and a wave of nausea washed over her. It was here; the day she hadn't wanted to still be here in this world; the first one without Molly – Christmas; more specifically, Christmas Eve.

She loved Christmas Eve at home, when she and Molly would sing along to Christmas songs whilst making mince pies, laughing and giggling as they wrapped the last of the Christmas gifts, the smell of cinnamon and egg nog in the air. Later on, they'd put on new pyjamas and watch a festive movie with a hot chocolate before bed, not forgetting to leave a warm mince pie and sherry on the hearth for Santa, along with a carrot and bowl of milk for Rudolph.

A day full of promise and expectation, the anticipation of Christmas Day making everything a little more heightened, making the blood run a little warmer and the heart race a little faster.

But that was her past, her future, a world away, and now she was here alone with nothing to look forward to, nothing to anticipate, nothing to fill the void of being without Molly, of being lost in the 80's, in this new old world, this dystopian madness her psyche had conjured up only to keep her brain functions alive.

Only him.

Him, with his cocksure swagger and overpowering presence, engulfing her whenever she was with him; him, with his lion's mane that flopped defiantly over his forehead, enticing her to push it away; him, with his smoke and whisky smell that lingered long after he'd gone, bombarding her senses with him. And those eyes; those piercing blue eyes that burned into her, stripping away her barriers, delving into her soul.

Alex shivered. Damn him for being here, for making her lean on him, for making her need him, for making her want him. And oh, how she fucking wanted him.

Shaking the carnal images of him away before they ran their usual course and led her to that reluctant, but becoming more regular, state of trembling and gasping his name as she worked herself to a shuddering climax, Alex dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen; she was wet, glorious heat and moisture pooling between her legs, but coffee was what she needed, not him, this morning. And a good shot of whisky to kick start the day; yes, alcohol would help to numb the stinging pain of loss and the hollow ache of want. 

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Two bites of toast would never be enough to combat the amount of whisky she'd consumed before 11am; her stomach was telling her that long before her head did. Contemplating the stupidity of this idea as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl, she realised this obviously far too late.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!". Retching one more time just to make sure her guts had left nothing to chance, Alex pushed her hair back from her sweat covered face and flushed the toilet. Sighing deeply at her failings, she laid on the bathroom floor, resting her head in the depths of a soft fluffy towel, wiping away the tears and sweat from her face as she did. Molly's face was what she saw when she closed her eyes and she wept, for the child she was now certain she wouldn't see grow any older, wouldn't get to stand proudly at her graduation or wedding, or cry with joy from the grandchildren she would have given her. And she cried for Gene, for what her body craved but her head told her to not be so fucking needy and obvious. Her heart was torn between the two, although if truth be told, today, it was currently leaning towards her body's point of view. Fuck you, Gene Hunt. Fuck you. Fuck you hard. Her stomach lurched once more; she would surely slide off this floor if it kept tilting from side to side like that. This Christmas Eve was not improving.

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The pounding on the door jolted her awake. Tasting the acrid remains of vomit on her lips and with her head splitting, she forced herself up onto her knees, and then stood shakily and made her way to the door, slowly opening it an inch.

"Christ, you look as rough as a badger's arse" Gene bellowed, frowning at the sight before him; her stained grey top was very off the shoulder, and her hair didn't appear to have had a brush anywhere near it today. The pale face and sunken bloodshot eyes glaring back at him told him more than he needed to know; her torment and suffering struck in his chest as sharp as any blade.

His booming voice thundered around her aching skull. "Happy Christmas Eve to you too" Alex managed to croak back, her throat still raw from the vicious heaving. 

She swayed from the door as he pushed through it and stopped to look around; an open whisky bottle on the coffee table, the desk lamp on it's side, towels strewn on the bathroom floor; he watched her stagger away into the kitchen and again he frowned. 

Righting the lamp, he switched it on to lighten the winter afternoon gloom, then followed into the kitchen, "Starting early with the Christmas spirit are we Bolls?" he looked disapprovingly, or was it disappointedly, at her, as though about to scold her. 

"Piss off Gene, I'm not in the mood" she bit her lip so as not to throw stronger words and clicked the kettle on, reaching up to a high cupboard for painkillers. "Why exactly are you here?" she didn't need him here to remind her of everything she wanted to forget.

"'s Christmas Eve Bols"

"Oh really? I hadn't noticed…" she gulped down the pills with water from an unwashed mug and closed her eyes, silently praying they would stay down in the maelstrom of a stomach she currently entertained.

The kettle clicked off and Gene pushed past her and set about making a tea and a strong black coffee. He frowned and pouted in equal measure and she met his eyes with a nonchalant glare, trying desperately to stop her gaze tracing along his square jaw with it's fine covering of fair stubble, down to his strong broad overcoat-clad shoulders, and back up to his gorgeous plump pouting lips, and eventually up to those eyes again.

"Something up Bols?"

She held her breath; caught in the act, "As I'm sure you can tell by my cheerful demeanour, Gene, everything's just fine and dandy" she spat the words at him, more out of guilt than anger.

He slammed the teaspoon down, and she jumped, "I'm serious, you dozy mare, although you're too bleary eyed to see anything today" he didn't take his eyes off her and spoke slowly and deliberately, "What's wrong, Alex?"

Gene using her real name was always a shock to the system but the way he said it this time sent a jolt straight to her already delicate stomach. Everything was wrong, nothing could ever be right again, but she couldn't tell him that. She felt the sting of tears and the tremble of her lip and wasn't strong enough to quell the tide. Biting back a sob she avoided his question once more, "Why are you here again?" she heard her own voice, weak and small.

"You know me Bols, I go where I'm needed" his voice was firm and confident in contrast.

He unnerved her more than usual today and her head was full of conflicting images, of the two of them, together, of him berating her for her emotions; of sweat and passion, angst and tears; of heat and cold; of him. "And you think… you think you're needed here?" her voice faltered, no more than a whisper, as her wide hazel orbs blinked up at him, tears threatening to spill at any second.

"To stop you slipping into an alcohol induced coma, yes, I think so" he glanced away, turning his attention to vigorously stirring her coffee, shielding them both from the pain in the others eyes. "Have you had any food today?" he barked the question at her.

"No… not really…" he followed her gaze to the plate of uneaten toast, "wasn't hungry…"

"Shame the same can't be said for your appetite for whisky this morning, eh?"

Her head hurt, "Look, Gene, if you've come here to lecture me on what I should and shouldn't be doing with my fucking 'Wonderful Christmas Time'" she did the finger waggle on the song title and his brow furrowed, "then you can just fuck off and leave me to drink myself into a stupor, from which I hopefully won't awaken until well into the new fucking year!"

Gene set his jaw and the pout was greater than ever. His eyes bore into her for what seemed like forever, then he turned on his heels and was gone, the slam of the door the only evidence he had been there. Alex slid to the floor and gathered her knees up to her chest, gripping her legs as she sat gently rocking as the sobs shook through her body, tears rolling down her cheeks. She really was doing a sterling job of fucking this Christmas Eve up.

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She shouldn't have been surprised to hear the door to the flat opening again; nor the soft thud of his boots crossing the hall towards her; he was her constant after all, always where he was needed. And oh, how she needed. Pawing at her cheeks and chin with the sleeves of her top she attempted to remove any trace of the tears she had shed. She scrambled up to a sitting position, propped herself against the cupboard doors and hoped desperately that he wouldn't notice she'd been crying her heart out.

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He did notice; he felt his heart tear in two at the very sight of her. Huddled on the floor and backed into the corner of the kitchen units, her face pale and eyes puffy and bloodshot. He tried not to stare but could only look away as far as her trembling limbs and then back at her eyes; her usual glistening, gorgeous hazel eyes were now dull and devoid of any joy. Christ, she was a mess. How he longed to understand what tortured her so; what demons she carried within her to bring her to this.

He strode across the kitchen towards her and she gazed up to him, afraid of what he thought of her, here, like this. In awe, she saw his head haloed by the ceiling light, like an angel above her. She watched as he placed a plastic bag onto the counter and stretched out a long arm to grasp her own and helped her to her feet. His grip was firm and heat radiated from his palm, burning into her forearm, only letting go once she had gripped the units to steady herself.

Removing covered plates from the bag, he spoke, softly, "Dinner. You wanna get, er, washed up or something?" he didn't know how to do this.

'Yes. Thanks" she whispered, apologetically, and keeping her eyes to the floor staggered into the bathroom.

Gene poured the stale tea and coffee into the sink and brewed a fresh pot of strong tea, whilst setting the table ready to serve Luigi's finest lasagne. Actually, Mrs Luigi's lasagne, so at least he knew it would be edible.

The bathroom taps seemed to run forever; the splashing of the water and gurgling of the drain the only sounds. He was about ready to shoulder charge the door open and scoop a broken Alex up in his arms, when the bathroom door opened slowly, and he watched her timidly step out, as though moving in slow motion she crossed the room towards him. She smelled of toothpaste and soap; strange, he'd never found that attractive before. But now, with her bare face, radiant from being scrubbed clean with all her freckles showing, framed by dark, damp curls, with her eyes wide and as scared as a bunny in the headlights, right at that moment she looked like Heaven on legs. And don't even get him started on her legs. The stained top was gone, replaced by a white shirt, sheer enough to allow the ghost of her red bra to show through. The vault flashed before him again, her ample breasts in that red bra, heaving, sweaty, hot…

"Sit" his frustration made the word harsher than intended and she didn't question his demand, pulling out a chair to sit at the small kitchen table, "Eat" he pushed a plate across towards her. Plump, glorious lasagne steamed in front of her, her eyes raked over it as an unglamorous mug of hot sweet tea was banged down next to it. Another plate and mug followed and Gene took the seat opposite her, never taking his eyes off her.

Alex sniffed loudly and dragged the back of her hand across her face, trying to reset her brain, to somehow ease her agony, "Gene, I…"

"Will you just shut up and eat!" he was hungrily tucking into his own food, shovelling huge chunks into his mouth; how had she not noticed the two slices of buttered bread on the side of his plate?

She started by pushing the food around her plate, as though unsure what to do with it. Why was he here? He still hadn't answered her question. It was Christmas Eve and neither of them had to be in the office for another two days, so she wasn't awol and there wasn't anything else to warrant him turning up at her flat mid afternoon.

Her thoughts from earlier crept back; what if this was exactly where she was meant to be, where she was needed? By whom? Gene? Maybe it was time she finally accepted this was her reality, possibly forever. Eternity with her constant; Gene Hunt, the mythical Neanderthal man sitting opposite her, more real than any man she'd ever known, more man than any man she'd ever known. Would that be so bad? A viable alternative to returning to her own time and Molly? Maybe, just maybe, if she stopped fighting, and fucking thinking, long enough, maybe she could bring herself to stay here, to stay with him…

She gazed across the table and was startled to find him staring at her. "You gonna eat that or play around with it?"

"Sorry, er, eat it, of course" caught in the act yet again. How did he always do that, as though he could read her thoughts? Her first hesitant taste of the excellent food soon led to another taste, and another. She quickly devoured the hearty offering, as though she'd fasted for a week, every forkful followed by her tongue darting around her lips, swiping away every remnant of the delicious blood-red sauce.

He watched her open mouthed, 'Hungry Bolls?' he managed to croak.

'Mmmm. Ravenous…' the word dripped from her mouth as seductively as the red sauce she had failed to catch. Well, if she was to be stuck here with him, she may as well make the most of it. And if her fantasies were anything to go by… She flashed her darkening hazel eyes dangerously at him and again ran her tongue along her moist lips. Ravenous indeed.

"You okay, Bolls? Have you had a knock to the 'ead or somethin'?" his brow furrowed, barely disguising his disbelief.

"No, not at all" she smiled, almost shyly, realising the impression she was creating with these newfound thoughts raging in her head, "although it does feel as though I have an earthquake going on in my skull, but that's whisky for you, eh?"

Unable to take his eyes off her as she scraped the last of the sauce from the plate, he mentally shook himself and left the table to retrieve one more item from the bags, proudly presenting a bowl on the table in front of her.

"Tiramisu?" Invigorated, she practically purred, gazing up at him through her long lashes, eyes glistening with delight.

Damn, she pressed all his buttons. He shifted on the spot, those buttons fired up mechanisms he could have done without rousing, "Full works tonight, Bolls" he almost blushed; stupid, soft Manc twat, behaving like a 17-year-old in front of a goddess. He couldn't help himself, he was hers, for whatever she asked. He could never deny her, that he knew from the very first second he had laid his eyes on her as he stepped from the Quattro. He was lost right then.

"Mm, I certainly hope so…" Shit. Too much? The whisky was still in her system; she would never be so bold. Had he taken that the wrong way? She couldn't tell; he looked somewhat constipated, uncomfortable for sure. Well done, Alex, you're fucking this up big style. Probably best you stay on your own for eternity; you can't do this right in the future or in the past; dozy mare. Bollocks. Shit, using his words again.

Now it was his turn to be the startled bunny, "I'll dish up then" his words were stilted as he spooned the dessert sloppily into bowls and placed one at either side of the table. The pudding was hastily consumed in relative silence, other than the clatter of spoons on bowls and an occasion moan of approval from Alex. How he wished she didn't make those gorgeous noises.

Eventually, she stood and moved the pots to the sink, returning to the table with a small plate of cheese and biscuits for them to share, giving Gene a grateful smile as she brushed past him. He caught her arm and tugged her towards him. Startled, she began to protest until he slowly and deliberately pressed his warm lips against the inside of her wrist, lingering there for what felt like a lifetime. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, rooted to the spot, blood rushing in her ears, her pounding heart the only sound.

His voice brought her back to earth, "Alex, Christ, I'm shit at this. Look love, I want to help you, want to be here for you. I don't know what's up, and I don't want to know until you're ready to tell me, but I hope you'll let me in" his grip on her arm never ceased, the sincerity in his gaze floored her as surely as if he'd thumped her in the head, "and you shouldn't be on your own at Christmas, look what you get up to when you're left on your own…"

"Gene…" she heard the crack in her own voice paused, she was shit at this too. A deep breath, "Gene Hunt, you mean more to me than you could ever know, and when I'm ready I will tell you the truth. But for now you being here is all I need; all I want…" she stepped closer to him and cradled his head in her trembling hands, gathering him in towards her body, lowering her head to plant a kiss in his hair. She felt his arms envelope her body, strong, warm, safe.

Pulling her down onto his lap, his eyes met hers and for once no words were necessary. Tears dropped from her lashes as his mouth quickly found hers, and although hesitant at first they soon found a perfect fit where tongues duelled and small gasps broke through. Her fingers tangled in his hair and toyed with the soft down on the nape of his neck, while his hands roamed her back and hips, stroking and applying pressure in all the right places, sending shockwaves coursing through her body.

Alex pulled away to catch her breath, her swollen lips parting as she gasped, "Want you to stay… never want you to leave… never…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Bolls, not anywhere. C'mere you dozy mare" he brushed her tears away with his thumb and captured her mouth once again. Moving one hand under her legs and the other to cradle her back, he stood, scooping her up with him, and with a longing gaze into those endless hazel orbs, carried her towards the bedroom, kicking the door open as he went. He lowered her onto her bed, gently, as though she might shatter in his hands, and laid beside her, planting delicate kisses over her eyes and cheeks, damp with fresh tears.

Alex sobbed, small and quiet but it was there, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair and shushing away her pain.

She raised a hand to rest on his cheek as she gulped away another sob, smiling up at him, "Happy Christmas, Gene"

"Happy Christmas, Alex".

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He was far more gentle than she could ever have imagined; this Neanderthal northerner with all the subtlety of a smack in the gob had an angel's feather touch. His hands skimmed her flesh leaving a trail of heat on her skin, matched by his eager mouth, sucking and biting and exploring, from her bee stung lips, along her slender neck and fine shoulders, then down to her breasts, rising and falling in breathless anticipation. The feel of his warm breath as his mouth captured a taught nipple sent her limbs into spasm, her back arching up to meet him, as his teeth nipped adoringly at the engorged bud.

She was lost; desire and need in human form; she had not known pleasure such as this before. And then his clever fingers were seeking lower, stroking her, delving deeper, surging into her. Her heart thumped in her ears, her breath quickening, close, close, so close. And then he was in her, stilling at first but then moving slowly, allowing them both to adjust to the wonder they now beheld. Never taking his eyes from hers, he moved swifter, but remained restrained, taking in the beauty and ecstasy beneath him. Her flesh was fire, trembling limbs covered in a fine sheen of sweat entwined around him, clinging on, never wanting to let go, aware of tears falling but who could say if they were hers or his, no matter; her mind and body now fluid; no longer certain of where Gene ended and she began.

The cry she heard came from somewhere far away, a place bathed in bright, warm sunlight; a beach, an ocean, blue sky, golden sun burning onto her, becoming hotter, brighter, brighter…

His breathless "Aleeexxxx!" brought her back to him, still clinging on for dear life, as he clung to her. This was it; her afterlife; her Heaven.

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Saturday 25th December 1982, Christmas Day 

Alex woke with a new feeling, one of excitement and hope, as she gazed at the blond head on the pillow next to her, and a wave of love washed over her. Stretching out a sleek arm she slowly stroked the golden locks, listening to the sound of Gene breathing. He turned his head towards her and blinked awake. Bright blue dazzled her, even in the morning half-light; could he control the colour and brightness of those eyes?

"'morning, love."

She smiled, a warm, sleepy, contented smile, "Good morning, You. Forever."

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 **Thanks for reading! ;-)**

 **May Alex and Gene have a very Happy Christmas, this year and for all eternity.**

 **I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings, and glad tidings to one and all, and a very Happy New Year xxxx**

 **Thanks to Ash & Matt for giving us fantastic characters to play with, to whatever ends…**

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